26. Charlie #4
“How long have you been helping the church?” I ask. The floaty we sit on spins in slow circles.
He looks at me like he’s surprised by the question, then gives a half-smile.
“Pretty much my whole life until I left, but I came back a year ago. I’m surprised you never noticed me before.
” He tilts his head toward the sky, and for a second, I just watch his throat move as he swallows. “I’ve seen you.”
I laugh softly. “You’ve seen me?”
“You sit in the back rows. I’m usually sitting in the handicap area with Gramps.” My heart sinks as I search inside my head for any memory of him. “I’ve stood behind you during communion several times. I think you smiled at me once.”
I shift, staring at the way the moonlight paints pale ribbons across the water.
“I don’t remember,” I say.
“I’ve fixed pews when you were waiting for confession with your mom. Painting once, and replacing the door knobs. You definitely were in your own little bubble.”
“So you did crash that bathroom on purpose? How long have you been watching me?”
“I’m sorry to be a disappointment, but I haven’t been creeping.
I’ve just seen you around, like I do with most people who come in.
I definitely didn’t come into the bathroom on purpose.
I was trying to get shit done so I could work on a few songs.
” A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “My grandparents were strict. Gramps was an usher. He was really the only father figure I had. I didn’t realize how much he’s declined. ”
“So he’s...”
“Yeah. I was living with Omen in that spare room, but then Gramps collapsed so I moved back in with him.” He glances at me, his eyes suddenly saddened and distant as he glances away for just one second. “What about you? Why’s your house look like you’re packing up to leave?”
“My parents are getting divorced.” He doesn’t say anything, just waits, his gaze steady, patient.
“They’ve been fighting for months,” I say, words spilling out before I can stop them.
“A few weeks ago, they went at it in the kitchen. My mom threw a bunch of dishes at him. Kinda had to lock myself in my room. There were holes in the walls. I heard him shove her. Toss her around. I didn’t know what to do.
” The memory makes my stomach twist. I trail my hand through the water, breaking the reflection of the moon into a thousand shards.
“I’m sure I’ve got daddy issues. They were always fighting growing up,” I admit.
“Maybe that’s why I chase guys who are walking red flags. ”
He turns toward me, resting his arm on the floaty. “I’m a red flag too.”
I shake my head immediately. “You volunteer at the church, that’s not a red flag.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“I know enough,” I whisper. “You don’t talk down to me. You don’t lie. You don’t take advantage of girls.” He looks away, but I keep going. “Any guy I’ve dated would’ve taken advantage of me that night at the bar. You didn’t.”
The silence around us stretches. The water laps gently against my arm.
I look at him, really look at him. I admire his arms covered in colorful tattoos that extend down to his fingers curling over the veins in his hands.
His long hair fell around his face in dark sheets, brushing the tops of his shoulders.
His brown eyes didn’t meet mine, they lingered on the water, heavy and unreadable like he was trying to decide whether to let me in or to keep me at arm’s length.
I dip my head under for a moment, the cool water rushing over my ears, muting everything. When I come back up, I’m gasping softly, hair clinging to my face. Noah’s watching me, that small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Your lips are turning blue,” he says. “You getting cold?”
Noah slips off the floaty, and the water ripples outward, brushing against my skin in soft waves. His eyes locked on mine like he’s already made up his mind. When he reaches me, he doesn’t say a word. He just presses a hand to the floaty between us and shoves it aside.
I don’t even realize I’m looping my arms around his neck, and then it’s a peck on the lips.
It’s almost like he's timid to kiss me, and my heart throbs in my throat. The taste of pool water coats my tongue as I part my mouth for him, almost begging as he slightly pulls his head back, scanning my face. When I try to close the distance, he keeps that gut wrenching inch apart from me. I can almost taste his breath, it’s mixed with the watermelon vodka, and it’s cold and rough.
His heart is pounding against my chest, the heat of him bleeding through the cold pool water.
My fingers find his hair, and I twist a handful, tugging just enough to pull a sound from him, a low, muffled groan that vibrates on my lips. It must have stirred something inside him awake, because he inhales a deep breath before he dips his tongue to the roof of my mouth.
His hands slide down my back, tracing every curve before gripping my ass and lifting me like I weigh nothing. My legs instinctively wrap around his hips. The movement sends ripples cascading across the pool.
Our mouths move in sync now, the kiss deeper, hungrier, but still careful, still soft. Just like the way his thumb drags along my jaw as if to remind himself I’m real.
“Do you want to get out?” he asks.
“Mmhm.”
He lets out a heavy breath and doesn’t say a word.
He just lets me go, swims to the edge of the pool, and lifts himself out of the water.
I follow and get out, soaked head to toe, and with no towel.
I’m shivering, crossing my arms as we leave a trail of our footsteps from the patio, across the tile floor of the kitchen, and into my room where he closes the door, and stares at the lock, and I’m swallowing my heart.